TANGIER AFTER HOURS

      He has been a vagabond for more than two years, if there is anyone who knows the depths of the night, it is him. He is a nocturnal being for what could he manage to do during daylight? When ordinary people are up to seek a crumb of bread, he confines himself in his tent for he knows not a breathing human being could aid him in his struggle, at last, man is cynical and each is fighting for the fulfillment of his pursuits; all he has is himself and the night where he digs for what man had left behind in his restless quests. He leaves his tent at midnight sharp, arming himself with his backpack of utilities and a dagger which he tucks underneath his socks for the night is as wild as the jungle, where man’s instincts resurface in the brawl for survival. He is habituated to go to restaurants asking for leftovers since he got introduced into the world of the marginal, but he no longer does, for they rather dispose of their leftovers than to help a starving tramp. From time to time, he gets his hands out of the dignified warmth of his pockets, and extends it to a passersby; a merchant of human mercy, a fishman in murky ponds. Luckily, he began understanding that self-dignity is the most precious stock in one’s existence. Far more valuable than for him to extend his hand for people who often mutter that they need help as well; he would rather starve himself to death than to be a stock of disdain for the wretched!

 

      He walks with steady steps down the city’s boulevard scrutinizing every corner bin in hopes of a merciful soul to have placed a bag of food besides it, he gathers what he could find with a smile of gratitude on his face for having at least not stepped over his wounded dignity. As he walks down avenue Fez, he hears sounds of quarrel at the other side of the street; turning his head, he sees three young men argue back and forth, on the verge of fighting. He advances towards them cautiously, his eyes on the ground, and his hand slightly reaching beneath his knee as to grab his dagger if need be. As he approaches them, he gets a whiff of their intoxicated brains and realizes that the three are excessively drunk and that their quarreling is a natural consequence. He turns around and begins walking away when one of the young men cried at him asking him what he wants, to which our character kept on walking without turning his head for a drunk man relishes quarrels yet despises himself. He carries on down the street and stops by an old man wearing a bushy white beard, sitting beside a bin; he asks him if he is hungry, and the old man motions his head in affirmation. He kneels, opens a plastic bag, and hands him half a sandwich he had found earlier, and the old man begins to giggle uncontrollably. The Gods have answered his pleas for a tuna sandwich. The man crossed his hands and held his head down, thanking his benefactor wholeheartedly and praying that God would stand by his side in his struggle; “may God purge your path from the cunning and the malevolent!”.

 

      He reaches the city’s coast at four in the morning, just in time when the degenerate of the city conclude their expeditions in night clubs and bars. The street is filled with people walking in every direction, some motioning for a cab to take them home for they are over drunk, and others looking for a place to eat to call it a night; women on the verge of nakedness, and men looking for a prey the way a wolf wanders the night in search of ripping the bare flesh of whatever stands before. After hours in Tangier are chaotic times in which only the heartless lurk in aspiration to fulfill their suppressed desires; where the cunning come to life as the devil lets roam his soldiers to sweep virtue out of its corners. Every passerby casts a glance of disdain and some even grimace at our character, yet he keeps on moving onwards, not paying them attention for he knows that their reality is far more wretched than his, that he at least does not allow his instincts to take over his senses, and that he remains a righteous being in a world where he could easily unveil his flaws and become a nocturnal savage. At last, who is more honorable? A man who maintains his integrity whilst being most tested by God? Or a man who relinquishes his principles albeit of God having bestowed upon him all the constituencies of a righteous life? Tell me, who is most worthy of praise?

 

     As he continues walking, he notices from afar, a man of advanced age in a refined suit pushing a child with a bouquet of roses held between her hands; he hastens his steps, fetches out his dagger and places it  between the garments of his worn out old sweater and his wrist. He moves behind the suspecious man swiftly, and quickly drags the young girl, putting her behind his back whilst he fixes his gaze on the man wearing an oversized winter beanie and a long beige raincoat. He exclaiming to him; “What has she done to you? Why push her so violently?” The man stares at him coldly for a while then said; “I am not a buying a flower from a filthy child, and look at you, you scum, you look even dirtier than her, it makes sense that you’re protecting your like!”. Reassuring the girl by tapping her on the shoulders behind his back, he casts a fierce glance at the man, close to losing a grip over his dagger for his hands are profusely sweaty; his entire arm shaking convulsive, but he supresses his fears and uses his eyes as defense. He kept his temper under control and refuses to reply after shared silence. Sensing the electric soul of our character who refuses to move one limb, the man slowly turns the other way and begins a slow stride as he kissed his tooth. Letting out a sight, he turns to face the girl, kneels down to address her only for time to freeze in the shadow of loss that inhabits her hazel eyes. Innocence, radiant innocence. “What are you doing in these streets? You don’t belong here for these folk are monstrous. Where is your mother?” Tilting her head upwards after a deep inhale, the infant replies; “My mother is infirmed, and my father has long passed away, I sell these flowers to help mother with the monthly rent, the landlord said he would dismiss us if we don’t pay this month, and we have nowhere to go” answers the child with her eyes down. The young man lets out a sigh, and motions the young girl to sit beside him on the threshold of a commercial building. He brings out a fifty dirham bill from his pocket, and fetches the other half of the sandwich from he gave the old man; “Here, you go home for tonight, this is all I have got, now go, and please avoid this sector of the city during the night.” The young girl throws herself in his arms, hugging him warmly. She thanked him with a gentle smile, and went away. He sat motionless for a while, fighting his tears, his will utterly broken, not due to his conditions, but because the night is an ever-surprising dimension, an abyss for the exiled and the distraught. Under the subtlety of the moonlight, only wolves grow feathers, then wings, then they flee the night. The lights of the night are flashing, the air is cool, and the streets are now empty besides a couple of cars going up and down; he stands up, wears his backpack, and carries towards the harbor to visit some seamen that await him by dawn. It is now morning, but the after hours find their way into the light.

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

this was an amazing trip into Tangier. i know nothing about this city, but your descriptions of it really transported me there. i know that all parts of this city are like this, every city has its underbelly. but i appreciate the honesty with which you described your town.
yet while the setting is exotic for me, there is also something very familiar. particularly the main character - because he is me. im a Snufkin and the only reason im not out on the streets is because of sheer luck. but he's not just a destitute, he is a compassionate soul. and his random acts of kindness are the optimistic elements of this story, and lifts it up to a quasi-spiritual work.
the only piece of feedback is just one small typo: in the paragraph begining ' As he continues walking...' it should be: 'Letting out a [sigh]'
i want to reiterate this is a powerful piece of writing. by letting the setting become a character, the reader really gets lost into this world. our hero also makes us ask the question 'what is a worthwhile life?' in Tangier, and around the world, we are all looking for the answer.

[LisaCarol]

Yahya - your writing is refined and poetic, always causing me to think and expand my mind. I especially pondered the reference to which man is more worthy of praise. With this piece, I gained insight into a world very different from my own. Thank you for sharing your writing.

[Yahya Oulad Aouid]

Dear Lisa,

Your heartfelt comment could not have been more satisfactory as to my hopes of immersing my reader, yet challenging him. I am glad this brief piece of writing is thought-evoking to you, and I am thankful for your insightful words! Thank you!

-Yahya